


Seascape

by MiriamKenneath



Category: Original Work
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/F, Underwater Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-08
Updated: 2018-01-08
Packaged: 2019-03-02 07:50:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13313748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiriamKenneath/pseuds/MiriamKenneath
Summary: She was beautiful, and I liked to imagine she could see me there watching her from beneath the swells of the tides and that she yearned to join me.But she never came into the water.





	Seascape

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Eida](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eida/gifts).



Most days, she would come to the place where the sea met the land and sit down on the hot yellow sand. She always dressed in white, and she kept her strange twin limbs folded and tucked up close to her chest.

Some days, she would bring her canvas and her paintbrush and her oil paints. But oil and water don’t mix, and at the end of each day, the canvas was still as white as her dress.

Most days, I would wait impatiently for her. She was beautiful, and I liked to imagine she could see me there watching her from beneath the swells of the tides and that she yearned to join me.

But she never came into the water.

 

* * *

 

Then, one day, she came to the place where the sea met the land, and she did not sit down on the hot yellow sand. Instead, she slashed her canvas to kelp ribbons, and she tore off her white dress, and at last, at long, long last, she came into the water.

Salty brine was falling from her eyes, returned to the Mother Ocean, and when the cold sea closed high over her head, I welcomed her with my kiss.

My kiss was life. If she would not breathe for herself, I would breathe for her.

 

* * *

 

She was familiar on the inside of her mouth and in that secret place between those strange twin limbs, soft and slick as a creature of the sea. Like me. I cupped her breasts and pushed my own secret place against hers and carried her down deep, where the fish, and we, go to spawn.

In that dark, lightless place, we tumbled and twirled and twisted. She grew swollen and sweet, and so did I; she shuddered and vibrated, and so did I. In the end, I had to give her air so that she could cry out her completion. It was hard when I was so overwhelmed by mine. But I held on tight, and I refused to let her go.

 

* * *

 

“I could paint pictures of you,” she told me afterwards, “pictures with words.”

And she did.

This is her story.

 

* * *

_**-fin-** _


End file.
